


Con te Partiro

by ToniArkens



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Germany is Holy Roman Empire, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToniArkens/pseuds/ToniArkens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fire alarm disrupts the World Counsel, France takes his rivalry with Britain to a whole new level, and Germany makes a mistake he'll regret for the rest of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Con te Partiro

"Italy, get up."

 

A soft groan, which could have been interpreted as a pitiful "caldo" was the only response.

 

Obvious disapproval was clear on Germany’s face as he looked down at the figure lying on the ground. Was he serious? It wasn’t even that hot out. It was hardly a week into summer, how the hell did he survive the worst of it?

 

“I don’t see why we have to stand around out here.” Britain was leaning against a nearby tree, arms crossed over his chest. “These things are never real. Someone probably just hit the fire alarm on the way up the stairs by accident.”

 

A rough, though kind-spirited hand slapped his back. “Come on, man! At least we get some fresh air, right?” Damn, did America always have to shout when he was right next to the person he was talking to? Really, he should have been used to it, but even so.

 

“You of all people aren’t usually one to talk about fresh air.”

 

Like, ever.

 

“He’s got a point, you know.” France’s arm was around Britain’s shoulders without having asked permission, that smug grin painting his features. “Being outside could really clear some heads, no?”

 

Britain shoved him off. “You’re only agreeing with him because it’s opposite my opinion!” Wasn’t that always the case? “I wouldn’t doubt if you were the one to set the alarm off in the first place.”

 

“Is that meant to be you trying to make a move on me?” This earned France a long-procrastinated fist against his jaw.

 

This went on for a good deal longer, no one really intervening. After all, this was far from the first time something like this had happened. A France Vs Britain fist fight was hardly exciting anymore.

 

It was about to get much more exciting very soon.

 

If there was one thing about France that was undisputed, it was that he always loved to put on a show. And this, this was no exception.

 

Just where the sword came from, no one was really sure, nor could anyone dictate just why it had escalated to the point where it was drawn. It was as though it was just conjured out of thin air. But one moment it was nothing more than pushing and shoving like school children, and the next, France was in the en guard position, blade pointed directly at Britain.

 

Some were silent, others shouting for them to calm down and back off. But only one jumped to action just as France lunged.

 

One hand clutching the handle of the blade, the other on the potential assailant's arm, Germany was doing all he could to weaken the other’s grip. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” France only began rambling in his native tongue, which, to be frank, no one bothered listening to. Considering who he was fighting, he put up quite a struggle. But in the end, Germany was able to rip the weapon from France’s hands with a single, sharp pull.

 

“Are you satisfied?!” No kindness in his voice, no mercy. “Your petty feud has nearly cost a man his life today! I refuse to believe that you are all so incompetent that--”

 

Why was everyone looking at him like that? Germany cut himself off to glance around at those who were in his line of vision. Why did they look so astonished? Surely it couldn’t be because of his victory? France wasn’t exactly the strongest out of all of them. No, it definitely couldn’t be that. Even if that were the case, their expressions wouldn’t be so frightened. More than frightened, actually. Horrified. True, unhindered horror. Aimed at _him_.

 

Every single pair of eyes locked onto him, and he was fairly certain that he heard a soft “Oh my God” escape from America’s lips. And yes, it was soft. He was about to speak, to ask what was wrong, when it clicked in his mind. They weren’t looking at him. They were looking behind him.

 

He turned his head.

 

He saw Italy standing there.

 

They both looked down.

 

Blood stained the front of his shirt and was beginning to color the grass below. He’d always been aware of just how much shorter Italy was, but never before had he seemed this small. And yet, he still remained standing for a few long, drawn out seconds before he finally fell forward. Germany caught him, only to discover that the sword had actually pierced him completely. And for the first time, he allowed himself to show just how scared he was. Breaths were quick, and he was all too aware that Italy’s were far too shallow on his neck.

 

It felt like an eternity before he was able to bring himself to speak. “Someone get help.” Trying to remain calm at first, but breaking when no one moved. “Now!” China ran off without wasting another moment.

 

He could practically hear the desperate begging from so long ago. ‘Please don’t shoot me, I’m too young to die! And what if I don’t die, and I’m just mortally wounded and forced to lie there in misery in a puddle of my own blood? Please, I’ll do anything! Well, I mean, within reason. I don’t want to die!’ He hadn’t let him then, he couldn’t now. So why did it feel as though he was betraying the very first person he had ever considered a friend?

 

No, stop thinking about that now. “Italy.” It took everything he had to keep his voice steady. “Italy, I need you to look at me.” Germany shifted him slightly so that he could. Don’t move the sword, that would only make matters worse. “Eyes open, that’s an order. Follow them for once in your life.”

 

_Stay awake. Stay awake._ These two words echoed in his head over and over again. Because dammit, Italy couldn’t die. As much as he was one for giving up, this was something else entirely.

 

“Sorry, Commander….” Voice far too rough, far too strained. No irritating levels of optimism. This had to be a nightmare. He would wake up in the morning to find Italy having crawled into his bed, and he would shout at him to put some clothes on, and everything would be fine.

 

It had to be.

 

Japan took a few steps forward, though he said nothing. Just shook his head in a manner meant to say that there was no use clinging to false hope. They both knew that, and there was no reason to pretend any longer. Germany replied in an equally silent gesture, asking that they be given some time only to themselves.

 

As he rested Italy’s head against his shoulder, a single memory flooded through him. A young girl, a goodbye, a promise.

 

But then, maybe she wasn’t a girl after all.

 

It wasn’t the first time things like this had happened. But now? Now was when everything clicked into place. What it all meant. “Looks like you joined me after all.” Just not in the way he’d originally intended. And if only it could have been longer. “I told you that I would see you again.”

 

It took a moment before Italy replied, and for a moment, Germany feared that he hadn’t spoken quickly enough. But he did respond, and it was with the two words neither had heard in so long. “Holy Rome…?”

 

It was enough to force a smile onto his lips, though it was pained. “Yeah, it’s me.” After all this time, it was him. After everything. And there were parts he had yet to recall, but for now, this was enough.

 

Italy, as one would expect, was terrified. Why wouldn’t he be? But upon hearing that, the majority of the fear left him. Because against all odds, against everything he had been told, Holy Rome was alive. He was alive, and he was there. And he was _Germany_. That part didn’t really make much sense, if he was honest, but he could live with it. Just like he could live with the fact that he hadn’t said anything until now. “I missed you….” His own smile tugged at his features, though it took significantly more energy than he currently had.

 

Dammit, he was crying. They both were. Germany clung to the slim figure in his arms as though it would keep him there. “I missed you, too. I’m sorry….” Taking a risk-- Was it a risk? They had done something similar before-- he placed his lips against his hair, cherishing each sensation that accompanied it. “I… hereby relieve you of duty.” What else was he meant to say right now? He could drone out apologies all day, and it wouldn’t make a difference. It wouldn’t take back what had happened, what he had done. He had only ever known orders, and fighting, and being stoic and unyielding. Was he supposed to explain that he hadn’t known their previous connection until just now? To say he loved him? That he always had, for all this time, even before he knew what he knew now?

  
He didn’t get to decide.

**Author's Note:**

> Hnng, I'm really hoping I managed to keep everyone in character. I've never written them before. >.> Also, forgive me if the beginning felt a tad rushed. Writing sad things is more my comfort zone.


End file.
